Riot

Curious to see what is there to know about Riot, I put my mug down on the coffee table and open my laptop. I have the website bookmarked, and I open the page with the escorts.

There he is. I lean closer, studying Riot’s pic. Now I’ve seen the man in the flesh, he doesn’t look much like the asshole from my memories. Riot’s taller, more slender, his hair shorter. His eyes are gray, I know that now, and his expression in the picture is hard to decipher.

Uncomfortable, I’d guess. Torn between cocky and unassuming. Maybe a little pissed.

For some reason it makes me smile.

Jesus. What’s wrong with me?

I click on the pic and find a page of text. It lists his hair and eye color—duh, of course—as well as his height and weight. Then comes a small bio. It reads stilted and I wonder if any of it is true:

Riot Gallagher. Twenty-five years old. Mechanic. Born and raised in the suburbs of Kansas City, before moving to Chicago to find work. His interests include martial arts, jogging, fishing, movies, and rock music.

Yeah, right. I bet that, in his real life, he goes golfing and sailing with his harem of women. He makes good money with this gig, that’s for sure.

Corey told me about escorts when he was trying to change my mind. He’s read up on them. Usually they’re guys who like a certain lifestyle and its comforts—handsome men who found a way to sell their charms. Like the escorts on the Gigolos show. They’re entrepreneurs, with college degrees, actors, and personal trainers. They found an easy way to make the big bucks and then have fun blowing it on casinos, clothes, trips around the world.

Though when I try to imagine Riot golfing or sunbathing on a yacht, it just doesn’t click. He plays his bad boy role well. He’s just that good an actor.

The thought stings a little, somehow.

T

here’s a note further down on his profile. It’s a small checklist for Riot. The boxes checked include tattoos and piercing, as well as his availability for sex at an added fee.

Piercing. Huh. I didn’t notice any on his body. The only part of him I didn’t see was…

Oh. Oh okay. A hot flush rises to my cheeks. I lean back and fan myself. Wow.

And why should I care if Riot is pierced down there? It’s not like I was ever interested in pierced cocks…

Oh God.

I jump up from the sofa and pace my living room. This is crazy. I can’t stand men touching me without getting a panic attack, and I feel hot and bothered because the escort I paid only to yell at him to leave is pierced.

Like it matters. Like I’ll ever see his piercing.

Like I’ll ever have sex with him, or any man.

Jesus. What’s left to try? I’ve visited therapists. I’ve tried yoga and meditation, hypnosis and crystal therapy, color therapy and cold and hot baths. Yeah, I have a trauma. I know that. I’ve read books about it, scoured the Internet for an answer.

Corey was right. My only bet at this point is a shrink. Drugs. Pills. What the hell ever. I’ll do whatever. Can’t keep on living this way, like a hermit in a cell, unable to face the world. Unable to face men and sex.

All because of one night, one dreadful night that changed my life.

Or...maybe I’m meant to live this way from now on. Alone. With a few trusted friends. Buried in books and studying. Spend my life trying to understand how my brain works and why the fear won’t leave me.

And maybe one day I’ll know why, even if it’s too late to live my life like every other twenty-year-old girl around here.

***

I hop from foot to foot outside the coffee shop, shivering with cold. If possible, I’m even more nervous meeting Riot this second time than I was the first. We have history now, and not a very good one. To be honest, I’m surprised he agreed to the appointment. In his shoes, I’m pretty sure I’d have had a long hard laugh and called it off.

Unless he needs the money. For his expensive hobbies. For his gambling debts or whatever. I really should watch this Gigolos Show. Corey is addicted to it.

God, I don’t want to face Corey any time soon. When he finds out how bad my decision turned out to be, he’ll never let me live it down.

Especially if he finds out I made another appointment with the same guy.